… and bring the bolt cutter!
by emebalia
Summary: In the middle of the night Sam gets a call for help from Dean. Little brother to the rescue. Just a fun little two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

… **and bring the bolt cutter!**

Sam shifted in his sleep. Some noise screwed its way into his dreams, drawing him to consciousness. Where the pain waited. Bruises weren't life threatening but they hurt like hell and maybe it was time for another dose of painkillers. Or he could just return to sleep which looked like the better option. Less moving around for that one. Burying his head deeper in the pillow Sam tried to sleep through the noise but it persisted and with every repeating it got louder. Finally Sam's foggy mind identified the noise. A phone. Ringing.

"Dean." Sam mumbled into his pillow. "Phone."

Half asleep he waited for Dean to take care of it but the ringing didn't stop. And he didn't hear anything indicating that his brother would do anything about it in the near future. With a sigh Sam rolled to his side and squinted to the other bed. The light from the phone on the nightstand was enough to make out the bed. With no brother inside.

"Dean?" Sam's voice cracked and he pushed himself up on one elbow. Slowly the memories came back. Dean had dosed him up with painkillers, tucked him in and then went out to raise some cash.

And the phone still rang. A little blurry to his eyes "Dean" stood in bold letters on the display. With a sigh Sam answered the call.

"If you want me to pick you up in the middle of the night ..." He began but was interrupted immediately.

"Sam!" Came Dean's voice out of the speaker. "Thank, God."

And instantly Sam was on high alert. Dean's voice was strained like he was in pain and he sounded far away like his phone wasn't right next to his mouth.

"Dean, what happened?" In his mind Sam ran any scenario he could think of. Dean had been out to a bar so maybe he'd pissed off the wrong guy. Or something supernatural got him. Or …

"Where are you?" Sam asked before Dean had time to answer his first question. With the phone sandwiched between his chin and his shoulder Sam fought with his jeans.

Dean rattled off an address but he sounded farther away with every word.

"Sam, hurry!" Dean yelled and then there was a cluttering sound. "... and bring the bolt cutter!"

"The what?" Sam adjusted the phone but the line was dead. "Dean?"

Sam dealt Dean's number and the phone rang, however, Dean didn't answer. After a few rings Sam cut the line because he feared that the noise could endanger Dean farther.

"Dammit, Dean." He muttered and finished dressing. Besides the address Dean hadn't given him anything to go by. Was this something supernatural? Was Dean hurt? And why the hell was he asking for a bolt cutter? Was he chained up somewhere?

While he checked the route to said address on his phone Sam made a mental list of the weapons he had with him in the room. A very short list. Dean had taken the Impala which left Sam with his gun and a silver knife and no wheels.

"Awesome." He channeled his big brother and tucked the gun in his waistband. At least the bar Dean had gone to was on his way so Sam hoped to find the Impala there or at the address. According to the map he had open it was in a residential neighborhood and not some abandoned warehouse or something like that. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not.

"Who or what did you piss off this time, Dean?" Sam muttered and hurried down the street. At three in the morning the whole town seemed asleep and nobody noticed when Sam hot-wired a car. His battered body protested against the position he forced it into but Sam didn't even bother to adjust the seat. As long as his knees didn't hit his chin he was good.

The Impala wasn't at the bar … which meant what? Sam chewed his bottom lip. Dean had left the bar with his car so he most likely had picked up some girl. Which normally didn't pose a threat. Normally. Gritting his teeth Sam sped up.

Sam spotted the Impala as soon as he turned into the right street. Leaving his stolen car behind Sam made his way slowly down the street. He avoided the isles of light from the street lamps but he still felt the prickling in his neck. Behind every black window he expected somebody or something to watch him. Gun in hand he reached the Impala and peered inside. Empty but he hadn't expected to find his brother there. But now he had the arsenal at hand.

Still not knowing what he was dealing with Sam took everything. With a glance at the dark and silent house every other second Sam hurried to gather his things.

He reloaded his gun with iron rounds and tucked it back in his waistband. Then he got out a bag. A shotgun with rock salt shells, a machete, a flask with holy water, a little bag of salt, his dad's journal, lighter fluid and some matches went into the bag along with a few other things. And the bolt cutter of course.

Then Sam shut the trunk and turned to the house.

"I'm coming, Dean."

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Sam double checked the number, he didn't want to break into the wrong house. With one last glance around, the street was still empty and he still felt like being watched, Sam took the two steps to the door at once. No indication of a forced entry and it was firmly locked.

Sam picked the lock and cracked the door open. Gun in hand he stepped in and closed the door behind himself. Everything was dark and for a moment he just stood there letting his eyes adjust to the poor light and taking in what his other senses told him.

A normal house. Nothing triggered his instincts. With his gun in one hand and the bag in the other he made a quick round through the rooms at this level. The faint smell of dinner lingered in the kitchen and on the couch table he found beer bottles and a half empty bowl of chips. Nothing out of the ordinary. No sign of Dean.

Just a dark and silent house in the middle of the night with its owners probably sleeping upstairs. Sam wondered if this was the right address after all.

"Dean?" He hissed but didn't dare to actually call for his brother. No answer.

Looking up the stairs Sam saw a hint of light shining through under on of the doors. The bedroom?

Sam sneaked up the stairs, holding his breath with every sound the wood under his feet made.

Suddenly a muffled scream broke the silence. Followed by a deep grunt.

"Don't move. Don't move!" Dean. And he sounded in pain? Panicked?

Sam ran.

He burst into the bedroom and then he saw it. Big and misshapen, moving under the blanket.

Somewhere a woman screamed and Dean was cursing.

Not sure if he should shoot Sam made his way through the room, eyes and gun fixed on whatever was under that blanket. And where was Dean?

"Sam? Please tell me that's you, man." His brother had never sounded that desperate in his entire life.

"It's me." Sam said and carefully lifted one corner of the blanket. And immediately dropped it again.

"What the hell?"

"Stop fooling around and get us outa here!" If he didn't know better Sam would have said Dean was close to tears.

"Is that your brother?" A female voice whispered.

The thing under the blanket moved and on one side a foot stuck out. Dean's.

Near the headboard the top of a curly head with huge brown eyes peeked out. Not Dean's.

"Yeah, it's him." Dean said in a strained voice. "Amber Sam, Sam Amber."

"Uhh." Sam made and lowered his gun. "Hi?"

"Oh, and Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"If you're not too busy would you mind getting us frigging outa here?" Dean yelled but was cut off by some movement which made him yelp in pain.

"Please?" He honest to god whimpered.

"Okay." Sam steeled himself. "I'll take off the blanket now."

It landed on the floor and revealed the full horror. For a second Sam just stared.

The woman used hair long and curly hair in the hopeless attempt to keep some dignity.

How did they manage to cover themselves up in the first place, he wondered. And how had Dean reached the phone? Which was laying on the floor next to the bed. It must have slid of the mattress, damn silk sheets.

Sam shook his head.

"You wanna take pictures?" Dean snapped him out of his stupor.

"What the hell were you trying to do, Dean?"

"It looked easier in that porn movie."

"Oh." Sam wasn't sure if he should crack up laughing or cut out his eyeballs. Maybe both.

"Did you bring the bolt cutter?" Dean asked and bit back another grunt of pain.

"Yeah, sure." Sam had to look around to find his bag but seconds later he had the cutter in hand.

"I've to see …" He apologised and sank to his knees at the side of the bed to have a closer look. Calculating where he had to made the first cut he tried to blank out that this was Dean. Just a puzzle to solve, nothing personal.

There were parts of Dean Sam never wanted to see. Especially not that close.

"Hey, careful down there." Dean muttered and craned his neck to see what Sam was doing _down there_.

Sam on the other hand was glad that Dean couldn't actually see what he was doing, not from that position he was in, but sure as hell Dean felt it. Three cuts later they had at least some room to wiggle.

"Hold still." Sam demanded and tried to figure out how to get them out of their misery.

"Ehm, Amber, right?" Sam shot her an reassuring smile. She didn't look reassured at all and Sam couldn't blame her. A total stranger with a bolt cutter that close to his private parts, he wouldn't be reassured either. She probably could feel him breathing down here.

"Could you?" He gestured vaguely and tried not to look. "Your knee, just a little to the left?"

Her face turned from embarrassed blushed to humiliated to the bone crimson and she stared away from Sam at the wall. But she moved her knee.

"No, no, no." Dean muttered. "Ahh, stop!"

Sam winced in sympathy.

However, this gave him an opening – he refused to think about the pun clearly intended – and with just the right angle …

Two cuts later all three of them sighed in relief. Dean and Amber stretched out on the bed. Both of them whimpering in pain after being caught in an uncomfortable position for Sam didn't want to think about how long. If Dean hadn't managed to call him …

Sam threw the blanket over their stark naked bodies.

"I wait downstairs."

A few minutes later a still stiff but thank God fully dressed Dean came down the stairs.

"Amber says thanks." He said and avoided Sam's eye.

"Sure thing." Sam wasn't surprised that she didn't want to come down.

Sam drove them back to the motel where Dean mother henned him back to bed. Dean's way of saying "thank you" and Sam didn't mind. It was okay with him to never speak of this ever again.

Dosed up with painkillers and neatly tucked in Sam drifted off to sleep. He was too exhausted to dream for which he was thankful.

They left town the next day.

When they stopped for gas Sam used the break to stretch his bruised body and bought them snacks and some ice cream.

"What's that?"

"It's called ice cream." Sam informed his brother but Dean sniffed at it like he expected it to be poisoned.

"Vanilla?"

"You're never getting anything but vanilla for the rest of your life, Dean."


End file.
